by Holly Rayner
The first taste of wine goes into the king’s glass. He swirls the thick liquid around, inspecting the legs on the wine, and takes the tiniest sip.
A nod, and his glass is filled.
The rest of us receive our wine, and I wait for the queen to take her first sip. After that, Sacha, Max and I try the wine, and I wonder how there could be any room for talk with all this pomp.
I’m also wondering if, even once in life, this family has sat around a TV in their pajamas and had pizza for dinner.
My guess is no.
“How do you like the wine?” Otto asks me.
I feel like I’m about to be judged on my wine knowledge, and even though I know a fair amount, it’s inevitable that I’ll fall short.
“It’s delicious,” I say honestly. “So rich, but clean.”
“It is from our vineyard,” Greta says.
I feel my eyebrows rise. “You have a vineyard?”
“We do. I can take you to see it tomorrow if you like. That is, if Max does not have other plans for you.” She waggles a finger at her stepson. “You’re not planning on keeping Poppy all to yourself, are you?”
I can feel Max tense. “It depends. I’m happy to share her time, but you must understand how hard it is for me.”
“I only need her for a few hours,” Greta says. “Or more, if you will let me take her shopping downtown.” She looks at me. “We can ride horses to the vineyard. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“It really does.” I laugh.
She’s so eager to please me, to get to know me. I know she’s a friendly woman, but does she not have many friends? I would have thought a queen would be surrounded by adoring masses.
Then again, adoring masses is something completely different from true friends.
Soup is brought out, but the king doesn’t touch his spoon.
Another one of those painful, long silences stretches on. He eyes me.
“Are you not going to eat?” he asks me.
My breath hitches in my throat. Shoot. This wasn’t something Max and I went over. What am I supposed to do if asked this? Is this the king’s invitation for me to begin the meal first? Is that something he sometimes does for guests?
Or is this a trick question?
“I am waiting for you to taste it first, Your Majesty,” I say, pulse roaring in my ears. “The soup is only worth eating if you like it.”
He bursts into laughter, and the noise echoes through the dining room.
“Well,” he says. “I see my son has taken the time to catch you up on royal etiquette. Well done, Max.”
“Thank you, Father,” Max says. He sounds somewhat relaxed, but I can tell he’s not all the way there. Like me, he’ll be sitting on pins and needles until we get out of the palace.
I’m beginning to understand his aversion to royal life in a deeper way. Greta is nice, but if Otto is this formal and distanced all the time, that’s really sad.
Hurtful.
“It is amazing, really,” Otto says, “that you have had time to teach her so much, considering you only recently met, hm?”
I look at Max. His gaze is on his father, his jaw ticking.
“You called Poppy your special guest,” Otto says. “You two are dating?”
Max nods.
“It’s a new thing for you.” Otto smiles. He’s baiting Max. “Teaching your girlfriends our ways. And surely you and Poppy haven’t known each other long.”
“We met six months ago,” Max says. “At that wedding I attended in Vermont.”
Otto blinks once. Twice.
His face turns red.
I literally jerk in my seat. Oh, man. What’s going on? What did Max or I say wrong?
“Six months,” Otto says. “And you never mentioned her?”
“We have been keeping it quiet.” Max raises his chin. “You know what publicity and lots of attention can do for a burgeoning relationship. The pressure the public eye can destroy even the best and strongest connection.”
“You have been dating for half a year?” Greta asks with a small frown.
“Yes,” Max reiterates.
“You could have told us,” she says. “We would have kept it a secret.”
Across me and down one, Sacha quietly eats his soup. The best I can tell, he’s completely unconcerned with this conversation.
“I know you would have,” Max says, his voice softening when he speaks to his stepmother. “But I liked the privacy of it. Poppy and I have enjoyed not having to update anyone on the progress of our relationship.”
I nod along. “Yes.”
“You haven’t been to the States in months,” Sacha says. Putting his soup spoon down, he looks at Max, then me, then back to his brother.
So he was listening. The whole “unaffected” thing is an act.
“And?” Max asks.
“When did you go and visit Poppy?”
“I’ve been in Europe the last six months, actually,” I say. “Except for when I went to New Jersey recently to visit my family, the Vermont trip was the last time I was in the States.”
“Hm,” Sacha comments. “And you went with her?” he asks Max.
“No.”
My stomach knots. I don’t know where Max was while I was in Jersey, and suddenly it feels like all our plot holes are dangerously close to the surface. We’ve worked out a general backstory, but it’s impossible to get things straight on every detail. If someone were to question us separately, they would figure out we’re lying in a matter of minutes.
“Any more questions?” Max asks him.
“Max,” Greta chastises. “Come now.”
Max purses his lips, but he doesn’t look sorry.
The soup bowls are taken away and replaced with asparagus wrapped in some kind of thinly sliced meat. It’s darker than prosciutto, but I’m not educated enough to know any other cured meat.
“I do hope you’re not a vegetarian,” Greta says to me. “If you are, we can—”
“No,” I say. “I’m not. I eat everything. Thank you very much, though. I appreciate it.”
I look at Otto to see if he’s tasted the newest course yet, but his hands are on the table, one on either side of his plate. He hasn’t picked up his fork.
“Six months,” he says, looking at Max. “And you never once mentioned her to me.”
“I just explained why,” Max says.
I suck in a breath. Am I about to see a royal family brawl?
“And yet,” his father sneers, “you explained nothing.”
I hear Max suck in a sharp breath, and across the table Greta daintily clears her throat.
Otto glances at her, and she must be reminding him to calm down, because he picks up his fork and tastes the asparagus.
I catch a glimpse of Sacha’s face. Either his eyes are permanently narrowed, or my suspicions are right and he doesn’t like me at all.
I take a bite of asparagus, and even though it’s amazing, my roiling stomach has a terrible time digesting it.
“Does Poppy know about your engagement?” Otto asks.
Max’s fork hits his plate with a clatter, and one of the servants near the doors startles.
“I am not engaged,” Max says through gritted teeth.
Otto continues on as if he did not hear him. “I have spent many hours speaking with prospective wives and their families and debating what to do with you. All of that time, lost.”
“You should have thought to consult me first,” Max counters. “You’d no doubt be surprised to find that I have opinions regarding my own life.”
“You’ve known about this engagement for days. You could have informed me of Poppy’s existence when I first brought it up to you, no? So what is your excuse for that?”
My breath stills, and I’m sitting on the edge of my seat. How is Max going to answer this one?
Suddenly, I know; it’s all over. This is Max’s family, the people who know him better than anyone else. How on earth did we think we could fool them?
“I could have told you about Poppy,” Max begins, “but I decided that if I were to do that, you would pass judgment on her for reasons that have nothing to do with the person she is.”
Otto’s lips twitch. It seems like he wants to respond, but he’s holding back, listening to what his son has to say.
Max continues. “I thought that if I brought her here and let you take the time to get to know her, you would come to admire and adore her as much as I do.”
Greta sighs. “That’s lovely. How sweet, Max.”
“Poppy is not of noble birth, yes,” Max says, “and that is reason for her to be rejected as a suitable match for me.”
His words sting. This is all fake, so they really shouldn’t, but man, they really do.
“Now here we are,” Max says. “And if you wish to pass judgment, you can do it in person.”
My hand is on the table between the two of us, and he puts his on top of it. Comfort envelopes me, and I’m back to a normal breathing pattern. It’s the expected result of his touch.
Otto lifts his chin and looks down at Max. His gaze moves to me, studying, weighing… Finally, he nods.
“I understand your hesitations there,” he says. “And though I hate that you kept this relationship from me, I am pleased that you brought Poppy here at all. There is a first time for everything, and this event is long overdue.”
Sacha laughs dryly.
“Oh, you are under the same microscope,” Greta says, poking his shoulder. “You have yet to bring someone home.”
“I have yet to meet anyone good enough,” is Sacha’s crisp answer as he lifts his wine for a careful sip.
Otto raises his hand, and the footmen come over to clear our plates and bring the next course. Everyone is quiet through this, and I fight the urge to fidget in my seat. I already knew this would be the longest dinner of my life, but it’s turning into an excruciating experience.
Otto takes the first bite of the new plate, still watching Max and me.
“Six months is a long time to date one person,” he says, “without discussion of the future. Tell me. Have you addressed that yet?”
His eyes land on me at the end of the question, and so I figure he wants me to answer. I open my mouth to go for it, but Max is already there.
“Poppy and I have more than discussed it,” he says. “We have married.”
“What?” Greta shrieks.
Even I gasp—and I knew this was coming. I just didn’t know when, so hearing it said out loud is actually kind of jarring.
Sacha’s eyes flick back and forth between Max and me, and Otto has gone sheet-white.
“Yes,” Max says. “As of about a week ago, Poppy and I are husband and wife.”
Otto wets his lips, his chin trembling. He looks like a bomb about to go off.
“With absolutely no consultation of me,” he says.
“I followed my heart,” Max replies. “And that I do not regret.”
“This completely goes against tradition.”
“I’m aware, but that’s not why I did it.” Max’s voice is calm, and I don’t know how he’s pulling it off. My heart is beating so loud the whole palace must hear it.
“And you.” Otto turns to me.
Max cuts in. “You would take care to speak well to my wife, Father.”
A collective gasp erupts from Greta, Sacha and me.
Did Max just tell the king to check himself?
Otto stares Max down. “You—”
“Did what I knew was right for myself,” Max interrupts. “As I know you did when you married my mother, and as I believe you also did when you married Greta. Those two women happened to be of noble birth, and even though Poppy is not, that does not make her any less of a person. In fact, I find her to be the most extraordinary woman I have ever met. Which is why I knew I had to win her over and make her mine as soon as possible.”
Otto’s throat rolls with a swallow, but his posture relaxes some. He doesn’t respond to Max; instead he’s looking at me again. This time, his voice is softer.
“Poppy, do you have any clue what you are in for? Max will one day be king. The life of a queen is not parties, tropical vacations, and showing your face here and there at a charity event, as so many princesses get away with. It requires strength, adherence to time-honored principles, the ability to make decisions that are best for the country and the world at large. Not to mention, sometimes a king is gone for many weeks or months. Can you live with such a lifestyle?”
It’s a whole list of things that I haven’t yet considered. And, oh my God, he’s right.
Every girl wants to be a princess, but not a queen. And why not? Because the latter is a very different thing, full of responsibilities that Otto hasn’t even touched on.
I suck in a breath and hold it. This is my chance. My opportunity out. Contract be damned.
But I don’t take it.
“I confess that I don’t fully understand the obligations,” I say, choosing each word carefully. “But there is much about your world, my king, that I did not understand before meeting Max. He has guided me every step of the way these last six months, however, and I have put in every effort to be the woman he needs. I knew very little of etiquette, Max has been patient and loving in guiding me. I feel that we have done a good job at that, and I have adapted well. Therefore, I do think that whatever shall come in life, I will be able to meet it so long as I have the man I love at my side.”
It’s a heavy speech, and I didn’t know most of it was coming until I’d already said it.
What’s more is that I mean it with all my heart.
I’m in love with Max.
It’s never been like this with another man. They’ve made me go weak in the knees before, and made me swoon and act all silly, but this is more. I’m comfortable with Max. I trust him.
I don’t want anyone else.
Otto’s watched me placidly through all of this, and it’s strange to see him so calm after the anger and disappointment that’s marked the meal.
Max clears his throat, and when I look to him, he smiles. Tingles whisk through me. Has he any idea that what I spoke was the truth, or does he think I’m that good of an actress?
“An emotional contribution,” Otto says. “And one that is noted.”
My ears ring, and I tilt my head. Did I hear right?
Otto waves his hand, and the plates are cleared. It’s a dish I might not have taken even a bite of; right now I can’t remember.
Is Otto saying…
Dessert is set in front of us, round, colorful puddings that look like panna cotta.
“It is good to hear you are strong and versatile,” Otto tells me. “Those are traits necessary for any princess… or queen,” he adds.
I hear Max suck in a little breath, and I fight the urge to shriek with joy.
“I myself,” Otto continues, “am not opposed to trying new things.” He smiles a bit, and it’s the very first smile I think he’s given me. “Poppy, would you like to try the dessert first?”
I blink. “Truly?”
His smile widens. “Please.”
“Yes, my king, I would like that very much.”
Otto looks past me, to Max. “I do not like how this all came about, but I do suppose I can come to respect your choice. Especially considering that you have selected such a lovely and capable wife.”
I catch Max’s eye, and he looks like he just won the jackpot.
Yep. Bingo.
Chapter 16
Poppy
Dessert finished, Otto puts his cloth napkin on his plate and stands. The rest of us do the same.
“We will take drinks on the veranda,” Otto tells one of the footmen.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the man says with a low bow.
Max offers me his arm again, and we walk to the hall, this time going to the very end of it. Here two French doors lead to a veranda overlooking the gardens I was admiring earlier. Lights are placed strategically along th
e paths, making the scene as beautiful at night as it is during the day.
The footmen have followed us out, and they offer digestifs and coffee. I eye King Otto, wanting to see what he selects. When he asks for a coffee, it’s all I can do to not sigh in relief. I’ve had enough with drinking for the night.
“I would love a coffee as well,” I tell the footman.
“Poppy.” Greta pats the cushion on the bench she’s seated herself on. “Come sit here next to me.”
I do as she asks, perching on the edge of the seat and keeping my back absolutely straight.
About halfway across the veranda, Otto and Max are talking in low voices. I desperately wish that I could hear what they’re saying, but their body posture is relaxed, so at least it doesn’t seem anything too bad is being said.
Past them, Sacha sulks around the edge of the veranda, looking at his phone then putting it away, as if he can’t sit still.
“You did wonderfully,” Greta murmurs so that only I can hear her.
“Really? Do you think so?”
She puts her hand on mine. “Very much.”
I wonder what her story is. Max said something about her being from a royal family, but does that mean she was a princess of some other country? Or could she have been some other kind of nobility before marrying Otto? I can’t quite place her accent, though I’m pretty sure it’s not from Stromhaer.
“Otto is pleased with you,” she continues.
I start to smile but then bite into it. “How can you tell?”
She laughs and winks. “He is my husband, dear. I think I know him quite well.”
“Yeah. You have a point there. Thank you again.”
The drinks arrive, and that seems to bring everyone together. The men stand nearby while Greta and I remain seated, sipping at our cups.
Like everything else I’ve had at the palace, the coffee is amazing. I always hear people talk about being on the hunt for the perfect cup of coffee. Who would have thought it could be found here, in the palace on Stromhaer?
Greta puts her drink on the table in front of us. “Tell me about the day you married. The wedding.”
Since she’s starting the conversation, the formality of dinner must not have followed us out to the veranda.
